This Step Is Once Again Our First
by Bellarsam Chrisjulittle
Summary: The promised sequel to "What Your Heart Fears But Needs to Know." A year after Tom's death, Molly is able to call Sherlock her good friend without hesitation. But what happens when her feelings begin to change to something deeper? Will the memories of her past heartbreak - both with Tom and Sherlock - hold her back from a future with the man who loves her?
1. Chapter 1

**One**

On the last Saturday evening in March, the weather in London proved to be particularly nasty. Rain poured down in buckets, and the dark clouds above occasionally lit up with lightning, followed by booming thunder. But inside 221B Baker Street, all was warm and dry. Two people sat on opposite ends of the leather sofa in the sitting room. Each was eating out of a carton of Chinese food with chopsticks, and the both of them were watching an episode of "Strictly Come Dancing" on the telly.

"Appalling!" Sherlock exclaimed the moment the televised waltz routine had finished, even as the televised audience roared with enthusiastic approval. "Utterly appalling!"

Molly chuckled. "It looked pretty good to me," she said.

"You have an untrained eye," said Sherlock, but looked at her when he realized how that could sound. "I mean in terms of ballroom dancing, Molly."

"And when, in your career as a consulting detective, did you have to develop this kind of trained eye?" asked Molly, half teasing and half curious.

"Never," Sherlock replied, looking intently at the food in his container. "I took lessons for three years."

Molly couldn't help but give a small smile at this. It seemed like she learned something new about him each Saturday evening that they got together to just hang out. This had started when the new year had: any Saturday evening that Molly didn't work or Sherlock didn't have a case, they would hang out at 221B with takeaway and crap telly. And it had been a long road for the both of them to this point…

* * *

It had been a year and two weeks since Tom had passed away, and Molly still missed him every day. But her support system of friends had never wavered and only grown stronger. Where it had grown stronger was not only becoming closer to the Watsons, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade: it was finally having something she could truly and without a doubt call friendship with Sherlock. Since their early morning conversation in Kensington Gardens eleven months ago, a lot of rebuilding had been done between the two, including building that had never been done.

For the first few months, Molly had kept Sherlock safely at arm's length, keeping their relationship purely professional. The only times that they would see each other outside of St. Bart's were when they saw the Watson family for the occasional dinner.

Then, when the leaves on the trees turned from green to gold, Molly began to trust him more, going with him on cases when John couldn't or preferred to be with his family. But the Christmas and New Year's holidays had been the true turning point; loving company, heartfelt gifts and the true spirit of the holidays had done wonders for the pathologist.

Being reminded of how truly blessed she was had given her the courage to finally be able to call Sherlock a friend. And for the past three months, their friendship had blossomed and was still growing strong…

* * *

"Who had the idea to put you in dance class?" asked Molly, smiling a bit at the thought of a young Sherlock in a ballroom dancing classroom.

"My father," Sherlock replied. "I was a very energetic child, often having more energy than I knew what to do with. Since I did not really get along with other boys my age because of our differed interests and my…well, my unique personality –"

Molly snorted and Sherlock shot her a glare before he continued.

"Well, for those reasons, sports were never a good option for expounding my energy. So, my father suggested dancing lessons."

"How old were you?"

"I took lessons from age ten to thirteen. I stopped when puberty began because…well, I had a whole new set of worries and being around even more girls than necessary…and it just didn't help."

Molly had to bite her fist to keep from laughing out loud as Sherlock stuttered through his response and the tips of his ears turned bright pink.

Trying to redeem himself, he finished in a firmer tone: "But I've never forgotten what I learned. And just one year of dance class experience is enough to know that _that_ waltz was a clumsy debacle."

Molly held up her hands in surrender. "All right, all right, I'll take your word for it. Since you know more than they do, would you demonstrate for me what a proper waltz step is, then? I'd like to know for future critiques."

Sherlock muted the commercial now playing on the telly, and spent a few minutes on his mobile until a pretty piano waltz played on it. Setting the device down on the coffee table, and ensuring that the volume was high enough to be heard over the pouring rain outside. Sherlock stood up from the sofa, walked around the coffee table until he was in front of Molly, and held out a hand to her. Molly looked at it in surprise and confusion before Sherlock explained, in a tone softer than it was sharp:

"I can't do a waltz without a partner, Molly."

For a moment, Molly felt frozen in hesitation, an old fear rekindling her chest. But in the next moment, she'd pushed it aside as silly, took his hand, and stood up. He then led her to the middle of the sitting room.

"Um, Sherlock, haven't you yet deduced that I am a complete klutz?" Molly asked as he put her left hand on his shoulder.

"Not a complete one, Molly," he said, his right hand settling on her back, his right arm supporting her left arm in the process. "Otherwise you would have many more broken limbs in your medical history. I've deduced that you are coordinated enough to handle a simple waltz with a partner who knows exactly what he's doing."

A statement like this would annoy most and offend some. Molly Hooper just laughed, causing Sherlock to smile. Bringing up their joined hands, Sherlock instructed: "Simply put, the basic waltz step is all in the rhythm of the music. 1-2-3 over and over again. If you let yourself become naturally attuned to that steady rhythm, like a pulse or a heartbeat, you can very easily master the basic step."

Molly nodded, his instructions making sense.

"Now, your first step is moving your right foot back. No!" He exclaimed the last word when he saw Molly lower her head to look at her feet. She looked back up and he spoke in a gentler tone. "Don't watch your feet. You'll lose the rhythm and your concentration that way. You need to trust yourself and your partner to accomplish a dance together. So just…keep eye contact with me, all right?"

His words seemed to become more weighted as he went on, his tone softening as well. Molly found that she could find no words, so she just nodded and held his hand a bit more securely. So she stepped back on her right foot, and he mirrored her by stepping forward on his left foot.

"Good, now step to the left with your left foot for the second beat. And for the third beat, move your right foot left to bring your feet together."

Molly nodded, and did as he instructed. His own steps mirrored hers.

"Very good. Now, for the next count of three, we'll switch steps and do what our partner has just done. So, step forward with your left foot on the first –"

"Then right with my right and then bring them back together again?"

"Exactly."

So they did the next three steps, and Molly kept eye contact with Sherlock. She couldn't resist smiling proudly to herself when they were done. Sherlock chuckled in response.

"Excellent, Molly. Now let's just repeat that simple sequence of steps in place to the rhythm of the music until you feel comfortable."

Molly couldn't help but notice that she already felt comfortable, _quite_ comfortable in fact, considering their position and close proximity. But she shoved this thought aside and nodded her assent.

After counting to three to the rhythm, the two began to dance the simple box step of the rhythm. Molly moved a bit awkwardly at first, not nearly as smoothly or surely as Sherlock did. But the longer they repeated those simple steps, with Sherlock making sure that they did not stray from the box that they'd outlined with their steps, the more Molly got used to it. Sherlock's advice had been sound: just letting the gentle piano-played waltz wash over her and enter her subconscious made it much easier. Eventually, Molly no longer felt the insecurity to break Sherlock's gaze to look at her feet. She didn't know which was more to blame for that: her own growing confidence in the steps, or the reassuring and steady gaze of Sherlock's that held her own.

Eventually, Sherlock seemed satisfied with her progress and said, "Well done, Molly. Now, let's try moving around a bit more so we're not just stuck in one place. So, each time we do the sequence, we'll move a bit clockwise, all right?"

Molly gave an uneasy laugh. "Well, I'm sorry for your toes in advance, Sherlock."

Sherlock chuckled, and he guided them in the steps, this time turning them slightly to the right in the process.

For a while, Molly got through the more sweeping steps, awkwardly but without stepping on any toes. But then, Molly (inevitably, in her own mind) tripped over her own foot and fell forward. Sherlock, of course, was right there to catch her in his arms.

The air around the two of them suddenly became very charged, what with Sherlock's arms supporting her and Molly's head and hands resting on his chest. His heartbeat was strong and accelerated in his chest, and Molly was pretty sure that her own was, too. Holding her breath, Molly turned her face up so that she could look at the detective. His pupils were dilated, so much so that she saw more black than blue.

"Molly…" he said softly, his breath hot on her face. Molly felt her cheeks begin to burn and her heart practically pound against her ribcage now. Was it just her imagination, or was his face getting closer to her own?

The charged moment was then quite rudely interrupted by the sound of Molly's mobile both ringing and vibrating at full volume from her trouser pocket. It startled Molly so much that she jumped back and out of Sherlock's hold as if he'd been on fire. Thankfully, she landed with a _thud_ on her own two feet. The detective, for his part just as startled as her, managed to keep his feet on the ground. His arms remained loosely open, and the look on his face suggested that he was perplexed and saddened that they were now empty.

Turning away from this unnerving sight, Molly fished out her mobile. The caller ID read that her boss, Mike Stamford, was calling.

She answered with a slightly high-pitched: "Hi, Mike! What's up?"

"Hey, Molly. Look, I'm really sorry about this, but Eric had to leave due to a family emergency. I know it's a Saturday evening, but could you come in and finish his shift?"

"Oh, um, of course! I can come in, no problem! I can be there in, um, twenty minutes. That okay?"

"Thanks, Molly, you're a real lifesaver! I'll hold down the fort until then. See you soon!"

"Bye, Mike," said Molly before ending the call and pocketing her mobile again.

She mustered up the courage to look at Sherlock again. He was now standing by the coffee table, typing out a text on his mobile. She vaguely noted that the pretty waltz music had stopped. When he was finished, he looked at her with a neutral expression. "I've sent for a taxi."

Obviously he'd gotten the jest of the call, and Molly suddenly felt uncomfortably guilty. "I'm sorry, Sherlock," she said sincerely. "I should have told Mike that I was busy. I'm just so used to going in whenever there's an emergency like this –"

Sherlock held up a hand. "Don't, Molly, it's fine."

"You don't mind?" she asked, not quite convinced.

"Molly, you're needed elsewhere. It's not as if we were doing anything…more important." The last two words were mumbled more than spoken, and to his shoes rather than her face.

She still didn't feel quite satisfied, but after that interrupted moment between them, Molly felt like she really needed to clear her head. Getting away from Sherlock, working until midnight, and then sleeping in the next morning sounded like a very good idea right now. But the last thing she wanted was to leave Sherlock on an awkward note. Their good friendship meant a lot to her, and she wouldn't let it go for the world.

"I'll make it up to you, Sherlock. If I can get any spare body parts, or if anything interesting comes through, I'll let you know."

He gave her a small smile. "I know you will, Molly. Please stop worrying, everything is fine." He looked towards the window and gave a satisfied nod. "It seems that the storm has dissipated. Go downstairs and wait for the cab."

Knowing that she would have to accept that, Molly nodded and returned his small smile. She gathered her things, put on her spring coat, and left the flat. Sherlock then walked to the window and watched until the cab arrived and Molly departed in it; the calmer weather and the glow of the nearby streetlamp gave him a clear view. But before she got in the cab, she turned her head and looked up at the window to 221B, where Sherlock was standing. Their eyes met for only a moment before Molly ducked inside the cab.

While Sherlock collapsed onto his sofa and curled up into a ball, and Molly leaned her head back against the backseat cushion in the cab, one thing was clear in both of their minds: a shift had occurred, and something had changed between them. But there was a difference as well:

While Sherlock dearly hoped it was for better, Molly was terrified that it could be for worse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

Mary Watson entered her kitchen, giving a very large yawn as she tied her fluffy robe over her pajamas. Fourteen-month-old Emma, strapped into her high chair and enthusiastically attacking her porridge, giggled at this comical sight entering the kitchen.

"Very funny, Missie Emmie," said Mary, making a face at John, who hid his own chuckles behind his coffee cup. Seeing that Emma's face was splattered with her morning porridge, Mary grabbed a dishcloth from the counter and wiped the cherubic face before giving it a kiss. "Why did you have to inherit your father's 'early bird gene' and leave me outnumbered in this house?"

She then joined her husband at the kitchen counter. As she reached out to prepare her own cup of coffee, John put a full mug that he had prepared for her in her hands instead. "My hero," she murmured, giving him a grateful kiss. "How long have you two been up?"

John shrugged. "Her an hour, me nearly two."

"You don't have to be at the clinic all day today, do you?"

"No, no, I've just got a few patients to see this morning. Then the rest of my Sunday is for my girls."

"Good. The bad weather from last night has blown away, and I think this just may be the first warmth of the year. A visit to the park will be just what this little bundle of energy needs."

She nodded to Emma, who was happily babbling and waggling her little legs as she played with the remainder of porridge in her pink bowl.

Their fond laughter was cut short by the sound of Mary's mobile chirping, which meant that she had a new text message. Sipping her coffee, Mary pulled the device from the pocket of her robe. An eyebrow rose as she read the message:

 _I need to talk to you today. Please. Text when convenient as quickly as possible. SH_

John gave a low whistle after he'd read the message his wife showed him. "Must be big, and I'm guessing it has to do with a certain pathologist he's head over heels in love with."

"Yeah," said Mary. "They hang out every Saturday night, and the fact that he's texting me and not you must mean he needs the feminine perspective."

Then, for the second time, husband and wife were interrupted by the sound of a ringing mobile. This time it was John's mobile, and this time the ringing indicated an incoming call. Picking up the device off the counter, his eyebrows shot up at the caller ID. He answered the call after showing Mary that the call was coming from the pathologist just mentioned.

"Morning, Molly! What's on your mind?" John greeted, almost sounding too cheerful to be natural.

"Hi, John!" Molly had that same tone, which worried John. "So, um, are you working today?"

"Yeah, just the morning. No peace for the wicked, ailing or dead, right?"

"Right, yeah. So, I understand if you want to go right home, but I'd like it if we could meet up for lunch, maybe?"

"Sure, Molly, of course we could. There's a little bistro down the block from my office, The Mariner. Let's meet there around noon, ok?"

"Thanks, John, that sounds good."

"Is everything alright, Molly?" John couldn't hold the question in any longer.

"Um, I…I'm not sure, John. Nothing drastic or accident wise, don't worry, just…I'd just really like to talk, ok?" Her voice had become quite small now.

"Of course, Molly," said John as reassuringly as she could. "I'll see you at noon, I promise."

"Ok. Thanks. See you then." Then Molly hung up.

John hung up and looked at his wife, knowing that she had gotten the jist of the conversation. "Well, something _definitely_ happened last night," she said before her eyes widened. "You don't think…"

"No, I don't think it went that far," said John with certainty. "Molly only sounded a little anxious; if it _had_ gone that far, she would be panicking, and Sherlock would have come right here instead of texting you."

"But something definitely happened, that's for sure," said Mary, setting down her coffee cup and walking to Emma, who was fussing to get out of her high chair now that her breakfast was finished. After cleaning Emma's face again, she unstrapped her and lifted the little one into her arms. "We knew that this day would come, John."

"Absolutely," said John, stepping up to them and stroking Emma's fair hair. "Since the holidays, it's only been a matter of time. Well, Mrs. Watson, our long-awaited mission has begun."

"And failure is not an option, Dr. Watson."

Emma, not wanting to be left out of the conversation, cooed loudly, "Dada! Mama! Wah Snoopy! Wah Snoopy!"

Now the husband and wife laughed fully before snuggling their daughter. After John took Emma in his arms so that they could fetch her beloved stuffed Snoopy from her crib, Mary sent Sherlock a reply on her mobile.

* * *

Later that morning, Mary arrived at the park two blocks from her house with Emma comfortably strapped in her stroller. When she saw that Sherlock was pacing around the set of baby swings near the playground, her worry level rose considerably. Sherlock became aware of their presence by the sound of Emma, having spotted her beloved godfather, wriggling in her stroller and calling out, "Unca Shehwog! Unca Shehwog!"

His posture relaxing, Sherlock walked to the mother and daughter as a warm smile lit up his face. "Hello, goddaughter!" he said as he knelt down and extracted her from her stroller. He then lifted Emma above his head before bringing her down for a cuddle.

Mary smiled warmly at the sight. From the very beginning, Sherlock had been a wonderful goddaughter to Emma. The little one had brought out a new side of Sherlock that even he hadn't known existed. In the months immediately following Tom's death, Molly would only see Sherlock outside of St. Bart's whenever the Watsons had them both over at their home. Mary had a strong suspicion that it had been seeing Sherlock interact with his beloved goddaughter which had been the first steps in Molly learning to trust Sherlock again. And Mary _certainly_ hadn't missed the longing and wistful way that Sherlock looked at Molly whenever he saw her interacting with Emma.

 _Yes,_ thought Mary, _John and I must not fail our mission: help our friends find the happiness that they deserve in each other._

"Swing! Swing!" exclaimed Emma, who had spotted the baby swings over her godfather's shoulder. She practically trembled with excitement.

Sherlock chuckled and happily walked her over to where she wanted to be. Mary followed, pushing the now empty stroller in front of her. In the next minute, Emma was settled in one of the baby swings, and Sherlock was gently pushing her back and forth at an even pace. Emma _loved_ the swings, so much so that she could happily spend all day being swung back and forth.

Once Emma was happily babbling to herself as her godfather swung her on the baby swing, Mary crossed her arms and leant against one of the polls holding up the swings. "Alright, Sherlock. I know that something must have happened last night with Molly. So start from the beginning and don't leave anything out."

Sherlock heaved a great sigh and, without once pausing in his task of swinging Emma, did as he was told.

* * *

Molly was waiting under the green and white striped awning outside of the bistro when John arrived. He greeted her with a hug, which she gratefully accepted without a word. She looked tired, but not completely exhausted. After they had been seated at a table for two, and after a kind waitress had taken their lunch orders, John started off the conversation as Molly hid a yawn behind her hand:

"You look tired, Molly."

"I am a bit tired. Mike asked me to come in last night and cover until midnight."

"Oh! So you and Sherlock didn't hang out, like usual?" asked John, taken aback. If she hadn't seen Sherlock at all last night…well, maybe he'd come in for a new case last night…

"No, I was," replied Molly, in a voice just a tad too bright. "But just before nine, Mike called and asked me to come in, since the pathologist on call had a family emergency. I worked until midnight, but if I still seem tired…well, it took me a while to fall asleep last night."

"Ah…" said John, deciding not to beat around the bush anymore. "Talk to me, Molly. Whatever you want to talk about. I'm guessing it's Sherlock, since you wanted to talk to only me, not Mary or the both of us."

Molly looked at him with a guilty expression, opened her mouth, but hesitated to speak.

John Watson may not have had Sherlock's gift for deductive genius, but he knew his friends and could read social cues far better than his friend ever could. He gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand. "Whatever you tell me will be in confidence, Molly. You know that, right?"

Molly nodded, instantly feeling a lot better. The Watsons had been her strongest support during and after Tom's death, and she knew without a doubt that she could count on them. So she let go of his hand and did as she was told.

* * *

 **A/N:** _So Sherlock and Molly desperately need a little help from their friends, and the Watsons are on the case! Their continued conversations in the next chapter!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

"Alright, let's switch places so that I can process this for a minute," said Mary, a few moments after Sherlock had concluded his account of the previous evening.

"Fine, by all means," snapped Sherlock, stepping away from the swing so that Mary could take up his former occupation. "I already feel like I'm going to lose my mind completely, what's another few minutes of agony?"

" _Sherlock_ ," Mary scolded as she started pushing a still content and babbling Emma on the swing.

Huffing a sigh but not saying anything in reply, Sherlock resumed his pacing around the baby swings as Mary took a few moments to think about what Sherlock had just disclosed to her. As a former covert agent and assassin, Mary knew that strategy and timing were the critical keys to making a mission successful. Those same rules applied here, and Mary had _every_ intention of succeeding in this one. It took her about a minute to come to the conclusion that further clarification was needed on a few details before she could give anything in the way of insightful advice.

When she voiced this out loud to Sherlock, he stopped his pacing and stood at attention like a cadet. After taking a few seconds not to laugh, Mary asked her first question:

"Has this ever happened before, Sherlock?"

"What specifically, Mary? Do you mean have we ever come this close to kissing romantically?"

"Not just that. I mean, has there ever been another moment where you felt that she could return your feelings? One of those moments when…when the air around you feels almost… _charged_ with electricity, and everything else in the world just fades into the background…"

Mary smiled to herself as she remembered the first moment like that between her and John. She'd been working as his nurse for a few weeks, and flirting had soon become their second language when they weren't in front of patients. Then, at the end of a long work week, the weather outside was rainy and gloomy. John, still a gentleman even when he was tired, had helped her put on her coat. Instantly, the air around them had become heated, and John had handled the situation correctly: he'd asked her out to dinner, and she'd gladly accepted.

She snapped herself out of her reminiscence and turned her attention back to Sherlock. He appeared to be in deep thought, searching through his own memories for an answer. Finally, he said, "No…I don't think so. Don't misunderstand me, Mary. When I'm with Molly, not a minute goes by when I wish that I could…but last night was the first time that I felt…that she would like me to."

Mary gave her friend a sympathetic smile. She and John had known for a long time how much Sherlock loved Molly, and they were so proud of him for how he'd been handling it since Tom's death. He'd gone above and beyond to earn Molly's trust and friendship; never once had he pressured Molly in any way to be more than friends. And even though Sherlock was not used to dealing with such strong emotions, he had been clean and sober since the day he'd nearly been sent to a fatal exile.

Now, Mary could see a glimmer of hope in his eyes and could also hear it in his voice. Smiling gently at him, she asked just as gently: "If Mike hadn't called Molly and broken the moment…would you have kissed her, Sherlock?"

Again, the detective fell into deep thought, and Mary waited patiently while swinging Emma back and forth. Eventually, Sherlock broke his silence.

"Yes. I believe I would have. Her being so close…the smell of her, the heat of her body, the way she was looking at me…I don't think I would have been able to help myself."

"Sherlock, there's nothing wrong with that."

"But it would most likely have sent Molly running for her life! I think that she was relieved when Mike called her in to work."

Mary bit her lip for a moment before replying. "That wouldn't surprise me." When Sherlock gave her a hurt and offended look, Mary briefly held up a hand and clarified her meaning. "You know I don't mean any offense, Sherlock. I mean that this would be a frightening situation for her. You and Molly have become really good friends. Under any circumstances, it's a frightening thing when feelings suddenly change from friendship to something more intimate. It's even more frightening to experience romantic feelings for someone else after they've lost the person they love the most. Add the history that you two have to this mix…" She trailed off purposefully, knowing that was enough for Sherlock to piece together the gist of her message.

He did with a solemn nod. He resumed his pacing but at a much slower speed. "Of course she would be reluctant…even if she _did_ feel something more for me…" He ran a hand through his curls and winced. "God above, _how_ did she do it?"

"How did she do what, Sherlock?"

"Those few years that we were acquainted before the Fall…when she was infatuated with me and I exploited it at every opportunity for the sake of my work…how was she still willing to help me, risk _everything_ to help me, when I'd done nothing for her in return?"

Mary nodded. John had told her all about each time he had seen Sherlock and Molly interact before the Fall. The story of the Christmas party at Baker Street still made her wince at the very thought of it. _Lord knows if I'd been there, I'd have put a bullet in his groin, not his chest._ But now was not the time to berate him for his past behavior with the pathologist; he seemed to be doing a perfectly adequate job of that himself.

She gently brought the baby swing to a stop and lifted Emma into her arms. The little girl was not happy about being lifted out of the swing, but was placated when Mary picked up her stuffed Snoopy from her stroller and gave it to the little one. Mary then walked over to Sherlock, who stopped in his pacing to face them.

"You know the answer to that question, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at her for a moment before giving an imperceptible nod. "Because she sees me," he breathed.

"Exactly. She always knew that your intention was never to cause her pain."

A flash of relief appeared in his eyes, but it was gone a moment later. Sherlock reached up and gently stroked Emma's fair head; she was quite content in cuddling with her Snoopy. Eventually, Sherlock looked at Mary again. "What do I do now?" he asked softly, looking and sounding like a lost little boy.

"Trust yourself and trust her," said Mary with certainty. "You're in love with Molly, Sherlock, truly and deeply. That means that you can see her now, too. I know you always put your faith in the mind, and drawing your conclusions from what your mind observes."

"But love is different," said Sherlock, more to himself than to Mary.

Mrs. Watson smiled. "Exactly. You want my advice, Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"First, wait until your paths cross at Bart's or for her to initiate contact. From what you've told me, what happened last night – or _nearly_ happened – rattled her, so it's important that she come to you."

"Yes, I'd thought of that," said Sherlock, nodding. "The last thing that I want to do now is frighten her and make her reticent to see me. And…when I _do_ see her again?"

Mary pointed her finger and touched his chest. "You listen to _this_ first." She brought the finger up to his forehead. "Let _this_ come second. I know this scares you, that you're not used to it, but trust me, Sherlock. Do that, and you'll be just fine."

Sherlock swallowed. "How do I do that?"

"You've done it before, Sherlock!" said Mary encouragingly. "Think back to the first time you and Molly talked after Tom died. I know that I wasn't there, but if you hadn't listened with your heart, you two would not be friends now."

"Oh," said Sherlock after a beat of silence. He then nodded and said, "Thank you, Mary." His tone may have sounded normal, but his eyes held all of the gratitude that Mary needed to see.

Knowing that she had done her job for the day, Mary kissed his cheek. Emma, who had watched the exchanged, wiggled forward in her mother's hold and gave Sherlock's cheek her own sloppy but heartfelt kiss. This of course caused Sherlock to lift her from Mary's arms and tickle her until the little girl laughed as loudly and brightly as she could.

Mary watched the heartwarming interaction with hope growing in her heart. And she could only hope that John was having as much luck with Molly.

* * *

Silence followed Molly's recollection of the previous evening with Sherlock, and for a few minutes she and John just ate their meals that had been delivered while she'd been talking. Both of them needed to process the story, one for the first time and one for what felt like the millionth time. Finally, John broke the silence.

"You have every right to feel a bit frightened, Molly. After what you've been through, with Sherlock and Tom, I'd be more worried if you weren't. It's hard enough when you experience romantic feelings for someone after that kind of loss. But when it happens to be Sherlock, what with your history and your friendship now –"

"Yes, that sums it up very well," said Molly, moving her pasta around her plate with her fork. She didn't have much of an appetite at the moment.

"But that's not all that's bothering you," John concluded correctly. His tone was gently prodding, an invitation for her to talk with the reassurance that she would be confiding in a friend.

She nodded and looked up from her plate at John. He could see the conflict in her large brown eyes. "You remember how Sherlock…interacted with me before the Fall, John. It was just a bit worse before he met you and had a good influence in his life. It's always hard to really like someone who isn't interested in you, but if that person also happens to be an arsehole who both leads you on to get what he wants and can be so carelessly cruel just for the sake of it…"

John nodded and sighed. He had indeed witnessed quite a few moments of Sherlock being absolutely careless towards Molly, her help and her feelings for him. That horrible Christmas party during the Irene Adler case was the best example of that. He'd watched Molly as much as Sherlock while he'd emotionally humiliated her in front of everyone. Watching all of her holiday cheer and hope crumble down in her body language and facial expressions had been almost as painful as watching his fellow soldiers get gunned down. In both situations, he'd been powerless to stop the damage done.

"It's hard to like yourself very much when that happens," John concluded.

Molly gave him a look devoid of tears but full of sadness. "John, I hated myself when I was infatuated with him. Unrequited love is hideous enough when the other person treats you decently…I never want to feel like that again."

John had to wince at how frankly she said it. There was no self-pity; she was just stating an unfortunate fact. And John could completely understand why she had felt that way about herself, especially considering the way that Sherlock had once treated her. But he had come here on assignment, a joint assignment with Mary: help Sherlock and Molly find true happiness in each other. He had complete confidence in his wife's ability to get through to Sherlock; he could only hope now to do as good a job with Molly. And the best way he could do that was by being honest with her now.

"He's not the same man that he was then, Molly," John said. "If he was, you two wouldn't be such good friends now."

Molly sighed, putting her fork down and lowering her gaze again. "I know. I _do_ know that, John. And I'm so proud of him for how much he's grown, and so grateful to you, Mary, Emma, Mrs. Hudson and Greg for helping him do that."

"Don't forget the part you've played, Molly!" John admonished gently. "And it wasn't a small part at all! It's because of you that he's still alive! You are one of the very few people in his life that he keeps himself up to the mark with, and he absolutely trusts you. He wouldn't do either if you hadn't done anything."

Molly didn't respond to this, and John decided not to push the point further. Perhaps Molly needed to hear that from Sherlock himself (Lord knows she deserved to deserved to hear it from him a long time ago). Then Molly spoke again, in a soft and resigned voice:

"I couldn't make him happy, John."

John sat back in his chair, for he was understandably shocked. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that Molly was the best person who could do that. "Molly, why would you think that?"

She rolled her eyes a bit impatiently and crossed her arms. "Tell me if any of this sounds familiar," she said, and then dropped her voice an octave lower so it would resemble Sherlock's more. " _Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side. Caring is not an advantage. Love is a human error._ " She dropped the lower tone and looked at John with that sad expression again. "Even if we felt something more for each other, he wouldn't want to. He would do everything he could to ignore them, push them away, and get rid of them. How could I possibly make him happy if he didn't want any of that? It would only lead to a lot of pain, or him coming to resent me. That's the last thing I want to happen, John."

John nodded and clenched his jaw, anger at his best friend rising up. In the years that they had known each other, John had never failed in wanting to punch Sherlock square in the face whenever Sherlock made a statement like that about sentiment and emotion. Now he wanted to do it all over again for how they made Molly feel now.

He took a moment to think about what he wanted to say next, for he knew what he said next would be critical to his assignment. While he knew perfectly well how Sherlock now felt about Molly, he wasn't going to break his friend's confidence. Besides, that revelation needed to come from no one but Sherlock. But he had to leave Molly with hope, because he knew that she had very good and real reason to hope now…if only that had always been true. This was indeed a tricky situation, but it wasn't an impossible one. So, after a moment of deep thought had passed, John broke the silence.

Leaning forward, John took Molly's hand securely in his own and held her gaze as he spoke. "Molly, I can't tell you what to do or what not to do. This isn't an easy situation from any angle. But you're not alone. Sherlock may be my best mate and my daughter's godfather, but you are my dear friend and my child's godmother. And you know how much Mary loves you and will stand by you. All we want is for you and Sherlock to be happy, whatever that means, whether you two are friends or something more."

She smiled and squeezed his hand. "I know, John…I couldn't have made it through Tom's passing without you guys…"

"I'm glad to hear that, Molly. Just remember something the next time you see Sherlock."

"What's that?"

" _You see him_. From the very beginning, however you've felt about him, you've always been able to see through all of the masks and walls that Sherlock has put up to protect himself. You still do that so well, Molly. Remember that, and have faith in that. If you do, the next time you two see each other, it's all going to work out. We're always here for you, no matter what. That includes Sherlock, Molly. Just as you couldn't bear to hurt him, he couldn't bear hurting you. Remember these things, Molly."

Molly slowly nodded for a moment, processing all of this information. When she had, she gave John a grateful smile and tugged at his hand. "Get up so I can hug you," she said.

John chuckled and said, "Yes, ma'am."

They got up from the table and embraced tightly, a brother and sister without a blood bond but plenty of love between them. "Thank you," Molly murmured.

"My pleasure," John murmured back.

When the embrace broke, Molly said, "Let's finish our meal. My appetite is coming back, thankfully."

"Good, let's!" said John.

"Then you can go home to your girls," said Molly, smiling as she resumed eating her pasta. "I hope Emma gets to play outside on a day like today!"

"Oh, she will! Want to join me? Emma always loves a visit from her Auntie Molly."

"Um…" Molly thought before saying apologetically, "I would love to, but not today. I'd just like to go home and relax, have a quiet day…I have some things to think about."

John nodded. "Of course, Molly."

* * *

The rest of their lunch passed quite pleasantly, their conversation consisting of Emma's latest accomplishments and antics. They left the restaurant and parted with a hug. After Molly had gotten into a cab that would take her home, John pulled out his mobile and texted Mary:

 _Just finished lunch. Where are you? JW_

Mary's reply came within a minute.

 _At home. Just served his and her nibs lunch, and they are now happily playing pirates in the sitting room. MW_

John smiled and flagged down a cab.

 _Lovely. Heading home now. JW_

After the cab started moving, Mary sent her reply.

 _How is Molly doing? Is she okay? MW_

 _She was understandably confused and a bit freaked out. But I think she's feeling better now. I invited her to come visit, but she says she's going to spend the rest of the day and night quietly, that she has some things to think about. JW_

 _All right. But you guys had a good talk? MW_

 _Yes, we did. I accomplished my assignment to the best of my ability. And you? JW_

 _Very good, Captain. I believe that I can say the same. He listened to what I said, as far as I can tell. MW_

 _Excellent. Well, my dear, we've done our part. JW_

 _Yes, we have. And now the next step is up to them. MW_

 _And we will be there for them through and through. JW_

 _Yes, we will. MW_


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

When Molly arrived home and entered her cozy flat, she felt a deep exhaustion wash over her like an ocean wave. This really shouldn't have surprised her, though, considering how little she had slept the previous night. Talking over everything with John had definitely been the right thing to do. True, she still had some important things to think over and make decision about, but at least her anxiety had lessened significantly.

Yawning without restraint, Molly barely managed to toe off her shoes and hang up her spring coat before shuffling off to her bedroom. Once there, she carelessly stripped down to her panties and crawled into bed. She was fast asleep moments after her head hit the pillow.

* * *

The sun was only four fingers above the horizon by the time Molly woke up again. She was shocked that she had slept the entire afternoon, but she didn't regret it at all. She felt completely refreshed, and in quite a good mood as well. Whistling a little tune, Molly got up and put on her comfy pajamas. She then decided to put on the Christmas present that Sherlock had given her mere months ago. That had certainly been a lovely moment to remember of a wonderful holiday evening…

 _"She's completely worn out, the darling," cooed Mrs. Hudson, stroking Emma's blonde hair. The little one lay on the carpet by the Christmas tree, surrounded by the torn and discarded wrapping paper of her gifts. She wore the black and yellow jumper with a honeybee pattern from her godfather, and was holding to her heart the stuffed Snoopy from her godmother._

 _"Well, it's her first Christmas," said Molly, smiling down at her sleeping goddaughter from the sofa. "It's exciting for all of us."_

 _"And in a few weeks, when her first birthday arrives, we get to do this all over again, but with cake!" said Greg happily, clinking his glass of mulled wine to Mrs. Hudson's, sharing a smile with her._

 _"Let's save that planning for a few days, yeah?" said Mary, who was very happily snuggled against her hubby; they both occupied the other end of the sofa beside Molly. "And let's enjoy the adult time we have now."_

 _"As in, the adults can open our presents now?" asked John, giving Molly's side a playful pinch, and she giggled._

 _"Ugh, not in public, you two," Sherlock said from the kitchen doorway, where he'd been casually leaning. But now he walked into the room and crouched in front of the Christmas tree. He kept his voice low, conscious of the sleeping Emma, as he spoke and began carefully pulling out parcels from under the evergreen branches. "But I concur with the plan of the adults opening their presents. And we will start with mine."_

 _John rolled his eyes. "Of course you'd want to be the first to open yours."_

 _Sherlock gave John a sharp look. "Actually, Dr. Watson, I mean that we will start by you all opening up the gifts I've gotten for all of you!"_

 _And so the very surprised people of Sherlock's inner circle opened their gifts one by one. While each gift had thought put into them, they were Sherlock's thoughts, so the results were a cross-pollination between infuriating, hilarious, and heart-warming. The prime examples of this were Mrs. Hudson's gift of Sherlock's favorite teas (so that she could continue to make it for him), and Lestrade's gift of a book full of tips about observation and deduction._

 _He gave Molly her present last. It was a large, rectangular parcel, bigger than any of his other gifts. Because it was very light to hold, Molly deduced that it held some type of clothing inside. Perhaps it was a new jumper; Sherlock had often enough expressed his distaste for her loud and colorful taste in knitwear. But after she'd unwrapped the paper and lifted the lid of the parcel, she saw that she'd guessed wrong._

 _Molly gasped when she saw Sherlock's gift to her. It was a dressing gown, similar to the many that he had, only this one had been made for her. That was apparent when she stood up and lifted it out of the box, holding it out in front of her. The material was thick, soft and luxuriant, perfect for chilly London evenings. The color was a rich purple, very similar to the color of her favorite shirt of his, with her initials embroidered in gold on the front._

 _The room was silent; it seemed that the others were as shocked as she was by her gift. This one held no subtle barb or fond joke; this gift was purely thoughtful and genuine. Still holding the beautiful dressing gown in front of her, Molly turned her gaze to Sherlock. He stood with his hands behind his back, his facial expression neutral but his eyes bright with nervous anticipation. "Try it on, Molly," he said._

 _Molly did indeed try it on, and it did indeed fit her and suit her like a perfectly tailored glove. Looking at him again, Molly gave a smile that reflected the radiance that she felt in wearing this wonderful gift. She then practically skipped over to him and did something that she had never done before: she embraced him without restraint._

 _"Thank you so much, Sherlock, I love it!"_

 _And he had returned the embrace. It hadn't lasted long, but it had been tight and warm…_

Molly came back to the present as she stroked the luxuriant fabric of the dressing gown hanging on the hook on the inner side of her closet door. With a smile, she put in on over her nearly naked body, for she knew it would provide sufficient warmth. She had to make the most of her gift, for soon it would be too warm to wear for a while. The fabric felt heavenly against her skin.

 _He really put thought and care into his gift for me,_ thought Molly as she walked into her sitting room. _Thought and care…two things that he has used with me for the past year to perfection…after years of absolutely none…_

Molly groaned as she fell onto her sofa. How long was she going to spend going 'round and 'round in circles over this? When would she feel confident enough to make a choice? Or would she ever?

To try to take her mind off her current predicament, Molly switched on her telly and began flipping through the channels. When she came to a channel that played old movies, she stopped because she had hit the jackpot. One of her favorite movie-musicals had just begun: _Hello, Dolly!_

Her father had loved classic musicals, both onstage and onscreen, and Molly had grown up watching these classics. _Hello, Dolly!_ had always been one of her favorites. The story was that of a widowed matchmaker named Dolly Levi, who loved nothing more than to arrange and meddle in people's lives (for good reason, of course). She determines to marry again, and sets her sights on one Horace Vandergelder, a grumpy and no-nonsense man that perfectly contrasts Dolly's easy-going and vibrant nature. And all the while she is pursuing her own match, she brings together three younger couples happily, with all four couples getting married in the end, like in a classic Shakespearean comedy.

As an adult, Molly knew that the entire plotline was quite cheesy, even for a musical, but she didn't care. This was pure escapism for her: the bright colors, the turn-of-the-century fashions, the flawless dance numbers (it was directed by the legendary Gene Kelly, after all), and the beautiful music. The songs themselves ranged from incredibly joyful and intimately tender. To her, this particular musical was pure escapism, which was exactly what she needed right now.

But by the time she had reached the middle of the movie, Molly's heartstrings began to tug in a way that had never been tugged before. It had been a while since she had seen this movie, and she had been through quite a lot. Now she could perfectly relate to the struggle that the main character went through in the story:

This was a woman who had lost the man she loved, and was trying to find the courage to love again. Wasn't that her exact struggle now?

She watched the rest of the movie with tears in her eyes. By the time it had ended, her heart felt heavy. Dolly may have found her peace of mind and a happy ending, but Molly hadn't. _There's only a letter of difference between our names, for God's sake!_ thought Molly with no small amount of pettiness.

After turning off her television, Molly walked back into her bedroom. Needing something to do, Molly walked to her window and parted the curtains, which had been closed while she slept the day away. The first thing that caught her eye was the sky. The sun had long gone down by now, but there were only a few clouds in the sky. Because the moon was only a sliver, the stars were more visible than they would be otherwise.

Seeing those stars caused Molly to lose herself in another memory, a more distant and intimate one than the last…

 _For their third date, Tom had taken Molly to Hyde Park. There was an air of palpable excitement about him as he led her to what he called his favorite spot. But try as she might, Molly couldn't get any more information out of him. It didn't seem as though he were taking her to one of the more popular places in the park. All that he had brought with him was what looked like a case that held a musical instrument, but as far as Molly knew, Tom didn't play any instrument. At least this June evening was relatively warm with very little chance of rain._

 _Though she had only known Tom for a few weeks, and this was only their third official date, Molly felt in her heart that she could trust Tom. This wasn't only because Mycroft had performed an_ extremely _thorough background check on the man shortly after their first date (that hadn't been Molly's idea, but considering her history with Jim Moriarty and the fact that his criminal network was still at large, she'd understood Mycroft's act of protective caution). There was another, deeper reason as well: Molly could feel with every fiber of her being that Tom was a good man._

 _That had been her first instinct about him when mutual friends had introduced them to each other at her local pub. This was the same kind of instinct that she'd had about Jim – one that she'd at first ignored because she'd felt very lonely in her life at that point – and the same kind about Sherlock before the Fall. She'd had such instincts all her life that had managed to keep her alive and whole in this world so far. And her first instinct about Tom solidified into a solid fact with each passing day, for his behavior and actions proved it right._

 _So, for these two good reasons, Molly felt quite safe in letting Tom lead her to an isolated spot in Hyde Park after dark._

" _Can you at least tell me how much farther?" she asked, giggling and a bit out of breath. "That won't spoil everything, surely."_

" _Just one more minute, Molly, I promise," said Tom, throwing her an excited smile over his shoulder. Molly felt her cheeks heat up a bit as she returned the smile. He did have such a lovely smile, and looked quite handsome when he did._

 _Sure enough, one minute later, Tom brought them to a stop. They'd ended up in a clearing, on a pretty little hillock that provided a lovely and unobstructed view of the night sky above them. Tom then let go of her hand and crouched down, setting his odd case on the ground and opening it. Looking over his shoulder, Molly smiled when she saw what he was taking out of it._

" _Wow," she said as he lifted the telescope from the case and unfurled it. But she couldn't say that she was surprised. She remembered when they'd first met and she'd told him that she was a forensic pathologist when he asked what she did. She'd prepared herself for the usual response that men made to this: surprise, awkwardness, and false praise to disguise their innate disgust. But that hadn't been Tom's reaction:_

"Then I know you're cleverer than I am, Miss Hooper, and my hat's off to you. The only branch of science I ever had any aptitude for or interest in was astronomy."

 _She knew then and there that, if he asked her out by the end of the evening, she would accept without hesitation._

 _In response to her soft exclamation, Tom grinned sheepishly as he stood up. "All of my life, I've found that a sky full of stars are one of the few things in this world that are beautiful in every sense of the word. And getting a closer look at them only enhances that. I actually have a bigger one at my flat. My balcony may be miniscule but it's enough space for it on clear nights."_

" _I hope you'll let me see it someday," said Molly, the words coming out of her mouth before she realized how that might sound. Though her cheeks flushed, she didn't regret saying it because she had meant it._

 _Tom responded with that soft, shy and adoring look and smile that made her heart fill with warmth. "You would always be welcome, Molly," he said sincerely._

 _He then turned his telescope to the sky and put his eye to it, searching for something. Molly took the opportunity to put her fingers to her cheeks in an attempt to cool them. It would take a while to get used to this feeling again…what was this feeling called again?_

" _Ah-ha!" Tom softly exclaimed beside her, staring intently through his telescope._

 _This brought Molly back to the present, and she lowered her hands to her sides. "Have you found something?"_

" _Yes, exactly what I'm looking for!" said Tom with satisfaction. He carefully leaned his head back and turned it to look at Molly, keeping the telescope as still as he could. "Come and look."_

 _Molly stepped over so that she stood in front of him, needing only to duck her head a little when going under his outstretched arm (he was an inch taller than Sherlock). She pressed her right eye to the telescope lens, and after a moment to let her vision focus, she gasped at what she saw._

" _Oh, the Milky Way!" she breathed, for that was what she was seeing in Tom's telescope: a lovely silver rivulet of the great galaxy flowing through the stars. "I didn't think this could be viewed in a big city!"_

" _Believe me, it took me a long time to find a spot where you could," said Tom, slowly lowering his hands from the telescope as she gripped it herself, lowered his arms and stepped to stand close by her side._

 _After a few minutes just spent gazing in awed admiration through the telescope, she lowered the instrument and placed it back in its case. When she had straightened up, Molly took Tom's hand in her own, interweaving their fingers. "Thank you, Tom," she said with all of the sincerity she could. "Truly, this is lovely."_

 _Tom, a humble man, lowered his head and scratched the back of his neck (which Molly found so endearing). "It was my pleasure, Molly," he said softly before clearing his throat. "I'm only sorry that there wasn't a meteor shower or a comet passing tonight –"_

" _No," Molly interrupted, placing her free hand on Tom's chest. His heart was pounding as hard as her own. "This is perfect."_

 _Tom met her gaze again, and even in the moonlight and starlight, she could see the beautiful emotions in his eyes. His free hand reached up and tenderly tucked a stray lock of hair that had come loose from her braid behind her ear. As that hand came to rest against her neck, he whispered, "May I?"_

" _Yes," she immediately replied._

 _When they kissed for the first time, there were no clichés. No fireworks exploded, no bells rang, and no violins played. But a warmth wrapped around both of them as their hearts became more tightly tethered to each other._

 _It was absolutely wonderful._

When Molly came back from her powerful memory, tears were on her cheeks but a small smile was on her face. After wiping the moisture away, Molly looked at the stars again and spoke in a soft and rich voice:

"I remember the promise you asked me to make during our last conversation, Tom. You told me to _live_ , to truly _live_ my life; to grieve but then move on. I think I've been doing okay so far. Those first months were… _so_ hard, Tom, I can't lie…but I got through them. I now have a circle of friends that I can call my family without a hesitation or doubt. And now…I may be on the verge of something… _more_. I think it's been long enough, and I'm trying to believe that he's different…but I can't deny that I'm scared.

"Then again…I was scared when I began to fall for you. I don't think there can be love without a little fear, because true love means hiding nothing from the other. There's _always_ fear in that. So…now, all I can do is do what I did when we met: take a leap of faith one day at a time.

"But Tom…I'm going to pull a Dolly Levi here and ask. It would make me feel a lot better going forward if…I got some kind of sign or message that you approve." She laughed a watery laugh. "If I could see the Milky Way right now, that would be a _perfect_ sign!" She sighed. "But I know I won't here and now…so I'm counting on you."

She lifted her hands to close the window, but before she did, Molly said one last thing:

"No matter what happens, Tom, I will always carry you in my heart. Goodnight, my someone."

Molly finally closed the window and laid down on her bed. She pulled her iPod out of her bedside-table drawer, put the earbuds in her ears, and selected the perfect song that she needed to listen to, though she'd watched the performance of it on film not too long ago: "Love Is Only Love" from the movie of _Hello, Dolly!_

Molly closed her eyes and let her fingers caress the fabric of her dressing gown as Barbra Streisand sang beautifully in her ears and heart:

… _No, it won't be like the first time…How can it be like the first time?_

 _But why does it have to be?_

… _Don't look for shooting stars, for love is only love:_

 _You touch, and still you touch the ground._

 _Don't listen for those bells, for love is only love,_

 _And if it's love you've found, your heart won't hear a sound._

 _And if you hold his hand, you only hold his hand._

 _The violins are all a bluff!_

… _But if you're really wise,_

 _The silence of his eyes will tell you love is only love,_

 _And it's wonderful enough._

 _Without the shooting stars,_

 _Without the sound of bells,_

 _Without the violins,_

 _Love is wonderful enough._


	5. Chapter 5

**Five**

Four days later, Molly and Sherlock saw each other again. The detective came to the morgue with Lestrade for a case; Molly had notified them that she had finished the autopsy of the murder victim found early that morning. Lestrade strode right into the morgue and approached her with his usual friendly smile. "Afternoon, Molly," he said, and then indicated the body laid out on her table covered in a white sheet. "Let's have a look at the poor bloke, then."

Molly nodded. As she uncovered the top half of the body, she saw Sherlock standing by the morgue doors, as if uncertain whether or not to proceed further into the room. This confused her at first, but then Molly remembered the way that their last encounter had ended. With all of the thinking, turning over and debating that she had been doing over the past few days, that last encounter seemed a lifetime ago.

In the midst of all of that thinking and debating, Molly had resolved what she herself would do when she came face-to-face with Sherlock again: see him, as John had said she could see him, and just go from there.

What she saw was a man who was not sure whether or not he was welcome here. Her heart warmed and she gave the consulting detective a reassuring smile. "Come over, Sherlock."

She saw Sherlock's shoulders sag in relief as he flashed a small smile back in return. In the next moment, he was in full detective mode again as he strode towards the two of them (three, if one counted the corpse).

* * *

Hours later, night had fallen over London. Sherlock and Molly had been working diligently and companionably in the lab since he had arrived with Lestrade. The DCI had left after Molly had shown the full report of her autopsy and he had conversed with Sherlock about what the autopsy had revealed. Sherlock had remained behind with Molly, because there had been traces of unfamiliar soot and residue in both the stab wounds and under the victim's nails. The two of them spent the rest of the afternoon and the first part of the evening running every available test on these substances. In between, Molly had grabbed a quick dinner from the canteen – and forced Sherlock to eat a bag of crisps, too.

It was after nine o'clock when Molly stretched her back and yawned. "Well, Sherlock," she said as she handed him the latest test results. "I'm afraid that's the last we'll get tonight. The rest of the tests won't show results at least until the morning. I hope you have enough to go on for tonight."

Sherlock nodded as he folded the papers she had handed to him and stuffed it into his inner blazer pocket. "This is sufficient for now. Text me tomorrow when you get the rest of the results." He paused, gave a little wince, and added, "Please."

Molly chuckled as she put on her coat. "Of course I will."

They walked out of the lab and got into the elevator together. Molly herself felt quite content. Working alongside Sherlock again had felt good; all of the awkwardness that she had feared she would feel hadn't come. There was even a small bounce in her step as they walked through the St. Bart's Lobby and out into the surprisingly mild and dry spring air. "Well, good luck with the case, Sherlock," she said before starting to walk down the street.

"Wait, Molly, you're walking home?" Sherlock exclaimed, easily catching up with her. "I can easily flag you a cab."

Molly smiled at this. "That's sweet to offer, Sherlock, but it's such a nice evening and I live only nine blocks away. I feel like walking."

"Then I'll walk with you, if I may," said Sherlock, and they soon fell into step beside each other.

Molly raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't you have a case to work on?"

"Yes, and the rendezvous set up with some of my network is not far from your flat, so this is no inconvenience to me," he replied. Then his steps slowed and he looked at her. "Unless you would…prefer to be alone?"

"Oh, no, it's fine, Sherlock!" she reassured the man. "I'm happy to have you walk with me."

Sherlock nodded his head and said, "Good," before they once again fell into an easy pace beside each other. For once, Sherlock kept pace with Molly instead of the other way around. Usually, he would take full advantage of his long legs and keep a pace which made even John have to put extra effort into keeping up with him. Now Molly walked beside him without having to lengthen or quicken her natural stride. It made a _very_ nice change.

For the first four blocks, they walked side by side in a comfortable silence. Eventually, Sherlock broke it by saying, "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Hm?" Molly said, turning her head to look at him. He was looking up, and he gestured to the sky. Looking up, Molly saw that only half of the sky was cloudy, and more than a few stars were visibly and twinkling merrily. She smiled softly to herself. "Yes, it is…" But then her smile faded and she looked at him again. "But I thought that you didn't know or care anything about astronomy? John said that it's not part of your work so therefore you just don't put it in your brain's hard drive."

"That is correct," said Sherlock, bringing his gaze down so that he could look forward again. "But, as I've also told John, that doesn't mean that I cannot appreciate their beauty."

Molly felt her heart leap in her chest at what he said, and it took everything she had not to stop in her tracks and give him an astonished look. She didn't have to wonder why her body had such a reaction to the simple statement that Sherlock had made, because she remembered who else had expressed to her how beautiful he found the night sky…

There was no doubt about it in her mind, soul or heart: Molly had received the blessing of approval that she had been praying for. _Thank you, Tom._

Molly looked at Sherlock's profile for a moment, looked forward again, and she did what her instincts told her to do. With her left hand, the pathologist reached out and took the detective's right hand in her own. She felt the man give a barely perceptible jolt of surprise, but in the very next moment, she felt his fingers securely intertwine with her own. She felt his gaze on her own profile; she didn't look at him, but she smiled a small smile to let him know that she knew exactly what she was doing.

Their hands remained joined, swinging gently back and forth between the two as they walked, the rest of the way to Molly's flat. When they came to the front steps of her building, they stopped. Without letting go of her hand, Sherlock met her eyes and asked in a voice she had seldom heard him use before (that is, without a trace of arrogance or patronization): "Molly, this Saturday…instead of staying in, may I take you out?"

Molly noticed that his grip on her hand had unconsciously tightened, and that his palm was sweating. Her doubts continuing to tumble down one by one in her mind and heart, Molly smiled at him and nodded firmly. "Yes, Sherlock, you may. We'll talk about it tomorrow, when the rest of the test results come in."

"Yes, good, we'll do that," said Sherlock. The relief that now radiated off him was palpable. "I'm sure that, once the rest of the results come in, I'll be able to wrap this case up before then."

"But if you don't, Sherlock, just let me know," said Molly firmly. "I won't be angry, so long as you tell me right away and not let me show up somewhere without knowing you won't be coming."

"Right, of course, that wouldn't be good, would it?"

"No- _pe_."

They shared a small chuckle at her imitation of his favorite way of responding to simple questions. When it died down, Sherlock looked completely unsure of how to proceed. Thankfully, the intuitive Molly had an idea. She said, "Well, good luck and be careful on your case tonight."

"I will, Molly," he said, and he meant it.

"And thank you for walking me home, Sherlock."

"It was no trouble or inconvenience."

Molly smiled, and then she went on her tiptoes so she could kiss his cheek. She'd never given him any kind of kiss before, but though it was an innocent kiss, it was far from an insignificant gesture: it held hope. "I'll talk to you tomorrow," she said softly.

All Sherlock could say as his ears turned red were three words: "Sweet dreams, Molly." And then he bent down and kissed her cheek in return. He'd done this twice before, but those had been quick pecks of apology and gratitude. This shy but lingering one held so much more: it held a promise.

With one last smile, Molly pulled her hand from his and walked up the stairs to her front door. She was very tempted to look behind her as she went through the front door, but she resisted it. _Baby steps, one at a time, move forward…_

* * *

That night, three good things happened.

One, Molly Hooper had a peaceful night's sleep with sweet dreams indeed, which was the last reassurance she needed that she had received the blessing that she needed.

Second, Sherlock Holmes gave the members of his homeless network who helped him that night almost triple what he usually tipped them, and even departed from them with a smile.

Third, Dr. and Mrs. Watson were each sent a captured image from a CCTV camera (no guesses who it was from) which showed Sherlock and Molly walking under a streetlamp holding hands. It pleased the couple so much that it was a miracle that their nightly activities didn't wake their one-year-old daughter sleeping just down the hall.

Their mission had been a success.

* * *

 **A/N:** _So, that's the end of this sequel. I'm sorry if I'm ending it before some of you would like it to, but I wanted the story to really end at the beginning of something wonderful rather than right in the middle of it. Plus, I wanted it to end on a real note of hope (as is evident from my title), which I think all of us Sherlock and Sherlolly fans need right now._

 _Speaking of…is anybody else as scared shitless as I am after watching the latest trailer? Of course, it would be nice if he's saying that to Molly, but I get the horrible feeling that if he is, that means she's about to die. Sherlock is not a man who would say those words under many other circumstances, especially in front of his brother. And also, the shot of Molly crying while she's talking on the phone doesn't bode well…ugh, yup, I'm scared shitless._

 _I won't be writing any new Sherlock fanfiction until after the whole series has aired and we'll have our questions answered for better or for worse. In the meantime, I've found a new couple in the Harry Potter universe that I've fallen in love with and am getting inspired by (please feel free to check it out!)_

 _So, au revoir for now. I'll see you on the other side (ugh, I'm starting my Sherlolly prayers now…) Please leave a review!_


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